


High Pressure System

by darter_blue



Series: Pressure [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Identity Reveal, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue
Summary: So Steve ran out on him.Ran out saying 'I'll call, you' which everyone knows means Bucky just got ghosted.Except it turns out his booty call might be more than Bucky bargained for. How deep is he willing to dig to chase the answers to his questions?And why is he finding it so impossible to say no to this guy?Steve Rogers, who ARE you...For my Bucky Barnes Bingo square: C2/ Team mates
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Pressure [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696774
Comments: 89
Kudos: 619
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	High Pressure System

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the cliff hanger on part 2, but here is a little bit of relief.
> 
> If you're new to this series, you probably need to pop back and read parts 1 and 2 (but I'm not the boss of you).
> 
> This is an AU and it sits sort of canon adjacent, but you'll find what you need inside, don't worry.

Bucky is too keyed up to sleep. He doesn't have a flight out until mid-morning the next day, and nothing but a big empty hotel room to float around in until then. Alone. Bucky is normally fine alone. He’s been alone, on and off, for a lot of years and he likes the solitude. But there is an oppressive emptiness in the hotel room now, and the half eaten macaroon on the cart is taunting him. And the wet towels that he hangs up in the bathroom speak to what just happened and then failed to happen. As in, well, he feels a little bit used.

He has so many questions for the universe right now. The loudest of which is, why the fuck did Steve run out of his hotel room so fast? Did Bucky do something wrong? Did he not do well enough at what Steve had asked of him? Or was the sex fine, and nothing more was needed of him?

Ugh, this will get him nowhere.

Secondary to this troubling line of questioning, how do Tony Stark and Steve know each other, and why would their discovering each other's presence in Bucky’s life have caused such drama? 

He moves on to something less noisy, and much easier to answer; is part of this feeling just hunger (he still hasn’t really eaten) and can he be bothered getting dinner? The Pringles are calling to him, are nice, lazy food, but he was so good yesterday, and felt better for it, maybe he should try that again. Take care of himself a little.

So he answers the easiest question first and orders a Reuban from the deli he liked so much yesterday. He takes a walk in his gym gear to go pick it up and actually the fresh air is good for his mind. By the time he gets back to his room, he has a clear enough head to answer one of the bigger questions. 

And to do that he needs to get to work. He needs to do some research.

He grabs his laptop. He starts with what he knows and what he knows is that Steve answered the phone 'Rogers' and that Stark had called out 'Steve Rogers' like an accusation when he thought he’d recognised Steve’s voice. 

So Bucky starts with a simple google search for Steve Rogers. And wow. 

There is a lot.

He limits his search to records with a date of birth post 1970, caucasian, alive.

He gets:

Baseball players, Rugby League players (Bucky sees some things when he sidetracks into Rugby league… do people play that sport voluntarily? No pads, no protection, just run out onto the field to die? Why?), actors, directors, musicians and regular people with nothing but Facebook profiles as results. 

The famous Steve’s are easy to filter out through their pictures.

He travels through a metric shit ton of social networking profiles and comes up empty. Which in itself is interesting, because it's like _his_ Steve Rogers is a ghost.

He remembers that Steve signed the picture he drew Bucky with the initials SGR and on a whim, a stupid whim and a niggling at the back of his brain, he looks up Steven G Rogers without any age restrictions and gets one result.

And it's a doozy.

Steven Grant Rogers, born, July 4, 1918. Brooklyn NY. Soldier with the United States Army 1943 to 1945. Killed In Action. Recipient of; U.S. Army Distinguished Unit Citation, Basic Parachutist Badge, American Defense Service Medal, Purple Heart, Combat Infantryman Badge and the Medal of Honor.

All of this information is freely available over the internet from a few sources, The World War II desk reference, the [ Eisenhower Center for American Studies ](https://archive.org/search.php?query=creator%3A%22Eisenhower+Center+for+American+Studies%22) are just two of those that Bucky cross references. 

The only photos he can find are from the propaganda material during Steve Rogers years of active service, the material that made him a household name at the time and what Bucky, and most Americans with any knowledge of their history, recognise him for: A decorated serviceman who formed an elite team of soldiers and lead America and its allies to defeat the Nazi’s (if you believe the hype) at the cost of his own life in 1945. 

And stranger still, there are pictures, but not one of the photos shows the soldier’s face. In all of them he is wearing the unique uniform he was known for, patriotically detailed and designed to stand out, with a helmet and cowl that covers most of his face. 

But there’s enough in those obscured photos to make Bucky catch his breath. The nose. The shoulders. The lips. 

They look awfully familiar.

Which is so ridiculous. This Steve Rogers died seventy five years ago. _His_ Steve Rogers is alive and well, and can’t be much older than Bucky. At a guess, Bucky would have said between thirty and thirty five. 

So this is just a waste of time, Right? Bucky is making subjective connections with a compromised mindset. 

Only there’s something else in one of the photos that catches his eye. One of the men standing with the soldier, overlooking maps across a table, looks familiar to Bucky. He searches for pictures of Howard Stark, practically a rock star in Bucky’s line of work, responsible for the foundation of so much of today’s technology. He references the stock photos against the picture with the soldier and yep. Same guy. Tony Stark’s dear old dad.

That can’t be a coincidence. 

What the actual fuck has he gotten himself into? 

Maybe it's better if he doesn’t keep trying to find out.

Okay it’s midnight. He needs to pack his shit, he wants another shower before he goes to bed, because he feels icky from all this weird subterfuge. He has some quality tea leaves out there on the room service cart that he can heat some water and prep for another night of good sleep before having to fly home in a death trap full of gross sweaty, squashed travellers. The likelihood of there being another super hot guy who can distract and relax Bucky enough to get him through it without drugs this time is awfully low. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not going to fall for it a second time anyway.

Yes, he has had a very hot, very interesting, very self discovering couple of days.

But he is wrecked.

He also probably needs to go get himself tested for the complete lack of responsibility he has taken in those two days, like, the minute he gets home.

And, well, deep down he knows this was always just going to be temporary. Any notions that Bucky was secretly harbouring of lazy sunday breakfasts in bed with the man of his dreams have been duly quashed beneath the reality of meaningless sex. 

And the completely reality bending realisation that he may have just slept with a one hundred year old man. Vampire. Robot, maybe.

Bucky puts it all firmly in the too hard basket and resolves never to think of it again. 

Which doesn’t work at all. That is to say, it’s all Bucky can think of, all night. While he’s in the shower he’s thinking about Steve. When he should be sleeping, he’s thinking about Steve. While he’s packing and tidying up, he’s thinking about Steve. He somehow, despite major efforts to the contrary, cannot get Steve off his mind. Or the way he had run out. The possibility of what more there is to know that Bucky is totally naive to. 

And it’s enough that he doesn’t even notice, while waiting patiently in line to buy his Promethazine at the airport pharmacy, that a very attractive, very compactly muscular man has sidled up to him and is standing way too close for comfort.

‘Hey,’ he says, warm, friendly smile making him seem totally non-threatening. Except he’s crowding Bucky, standing between him and the rest of the queue, cutting him off from other people’s sight lines and Bucky doesn’t like that at all. 

His expression must convey all of that, because the guy takes a small step back and puts his hands half way up, in a discreet show of peace. He’s maybe half an inch shorter than Bucky, if that, and his white polo shirt offsets his deep, bronze-brown skin and short cropped dark hair in a very flattering way, and under normal circumstances the combination of all that muscle and the gap tooth smile and the rich amber eyes would have Bucky smiling back, but something feels off. Orchestrated. He’s also still barring Bucky’s way from the rest of the now moving line of customers.

Something’s wrong.

Bucky takes a step back himself, widening the gap between them, but his socially ingrained ego doesn’t want to be rude, after all, this could just be pre-flight paranoia. So of course he attempts to smile and say, ‘Hey,’ back. 

The guy’s smile widens. ‘Now, this is gonna sound like a line, man, but honestly, you have the prettiest eyes.’ And Bucky’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. The guy is still holding his hands up like Bucky’s a skittish horse, but he’s also got his head cocked, smiling that smile, like he’s laughing at some joke Bucky isn’t in on, but also isn’t the butt of. 

'Umm, thank you?' Bucky's brain is telling his paranoia to back off now, but his gut says otherwise. He takes another step back but is acutely aware he will soon run out of space with which to do so. 

And goddamn, he doesn't want to leave his pills behind. 

'Honestly, I'm not here to make trouble,’ the guy says, voice like honey, ‘we have a mutual acquaintance, though, who asked me to check in on you.'

Bucky uses his peripheral vision as much as he can to clock activity to his left and right and not take eyes off his new friend. Nobody is around. 

'It's Bucky, right?' Bucky just looks at the guy and narrows his eyes. 'Right, right, my bad. You don't know me, I know this seems weird, but I need you to trust me for a minute.' His voice is calm and reasonable and if Bucky wasn't so anxious by nature, this might be working on him. But he is, and it's not. And the guy can tell. 

Bucky feels sort of bad for him. He seems like a nice guy.

While Bucky is still deciding whether to drop his goods and just run, the guy sighs and turns his head away from Bucky holding up a finger as if asking for one second. 'Man I am not saying that,' he says to apparently no one and then looks to Bucky again. 'Our mutual friend,' he starts and takes a step closer to Bucky so he can lower his voice, 'Our mutual friend wants me to tell you that he owes you dinner and that if you're good - oh my god,' he shakes his head, 'if you're good and come with me now, he'll answer all the questions you have while he fucks you over a table.' 

'Steve?' Bucky asks with embarrassing enthusiasm, but someone is talking into his guy's ear, and who the hell else would say that to get Bucky to trust them? 

'Jesus Christ, it better not be my table,' the guy says, and Bucky lets him take a step closer still.

'You're with Steve?' 

'Yes, I'm with Steve, and ah,' he looks behind Bucky to the terminal outside the pharmacy, 'we need to go.'

'What? Where?'

'Listen, you don't have to trust me, but trust him okay? We need to get you out of here.' 

And Bucky must have lost his mind, or it just doesn't work at all whenever Steve is involved, but he puts his poor drugs back on the shelf nearest to him and gestures for his new friend to lead the way. 'Okay.'

'Oh, thank god. Okay. Let's go,' he looks both ways before exiting to the left into an oncoming barrage of people. 'I'm Sam by the way,' he says, looking back over his shoulder at Bucky. 

'I guess you already know I’m Bucky,' Bucky says, and Sam smiles and winks, then turns back to the terminal. 

Bucky feels exposed and overwhelmed by the people bustling around him, it's hard to keep eyes out for anything suspicious but he thinks he catches a glance of Tony Stark and a slew of black clad security personnel a hundred yards away by the Stone Arch.

'Yep, on it,' Sam says, presumably to Steve in his ear, and turns them right down an empty hallway with bright mosaic work along the walls. It leads them back through to check-in and then to the escalators and down to the car park.

'We're leaving?' Bucky asks. What about his flight? How's he supposed to get home? Does he really care about not getting on a flying metal death machine right now? 

'We're leaving,' Sam replies. And they are met at the exit by a petite redhead with porcelain skin and killer eye makeup. 

'Car's this way,' she says, gesturing forward, voice like smoke and chocolate. She falls back to walk beside Bucky, pull his hair out and slap a navy blue ball cap on his head. 'Hey there, gorgeous,' she croons, 'let's get you to your man.' And Bucky doesn't even protest when she tucks herself under his arm to follow behind Sam. 

'Am I in some kind of danger?' Bucky asks, keeping himself calm by the grace of some very deep breathing and the repeated silent mantra of, 'Steve, trust Steve, you trust Steve,' even though, at this stage, he has no real evidence to suggest that he should. 

'Not really,' the redhead says looking up at him with sharp eyes, 'but let Steve explain, he made us promise.'

Bucky nods, like he has a choice in the matter and forces his body to be calm, tries not to dart his eyes around, all obvious and attention grabbing. 

It's not long before they're at the carpark and stalking over to a white van, the back door of which slides open to reveal none other than Steve Rogers, glorious physique on display in a sinfully tight under armour compression shirt and dark blue warm up pants.

Like a tag team, Sam and the redhead glide into the vehicle and Steve steps out. And Bucky might be a fool for this boy already but he’s not just gonna jump into his arms (he’s not, back off inner Bucky). He takes a step back and folds his arms.

‘Bucky, hey,’ Steve says, and his shoulders are all ‘aww shucks’, his foot is practically scuffing the pavement. 

‘Hello.’

‘So… you’re mad, you look mad.’

‘Steve,’ Bucky says, teeth clenched, ‘What am I doing here?’

‘I can explain this.’ Bucky will not fall for that pouty bottom lip, hill _will not_.

‘Great, because I just missed my flight home, my boss wants to fire me, and I've had to block Tony Stark's number because he won't stop calling me.' his hands have unfolded and now sit accusingly on his hips. 'I would really love to know what the hell is going on.’

‘Can we talk about it in the car?’

‘It's a van,’ Bucky says, contrary as can be.

‘Van, Christ, can you just get in the van, Buck?’

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s also pretty sure Steve selected that outfit specifically to lure Bucky into said van, so he’s fighting his base instincts here. But he also knows he won’t stop driving himself crazy about all this until he gets some answers, so against all better judgement he sighs with resignation and steps past Steve and into the van.

The van is set up inside with a small amount of tech - Bucky recognises laptops and audio recording equipment, some mapping paraphernalia, digital and analogue, some stuff he couldn’t name but looks very high end. There’s a bench seat running the length of the back with the screens and equipment on the other side. Sam and the small, scary redhead are in the front seats, taking off as soon as Steve steps in and slides the door shut behind him. 

Bucky sits on the bench and shuffles down to the end, placing his carry-on luggage on the floor, careful to stay just out of Steve’s reach. It’s important to him that he gets given the answers he's searching for, and he doesn’t want to risk the distraction of Steve’s touch.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Bucky says as the silence stretches and Steve is still just watching him, ‘Really, I love getting kidnapped to go for leisurely drives, take your time,’ and hears a snort from from the front of the van.

‘Bucky,’ Steve says, and it sounds exasperated, which is pretty rich, considering. ‘There’s a lot, I’m just,’ Steve shakes his head, like he’s trying to unstick something, ‘I need to figure out where to start.’

‘How bout with how it seems like maybe you’re a hundred years old and you look thirty,’ Bucky asks, because that really has been eating at him, if this is the Steve Rogers he thinks it is, ‘You’re not a vampire, right? That’s not a thing.’

‘No, I’m not a vampire, Bucky,’ Steve says with a laugh. ‘But I am, I mean technically I am a hundred years old.’

Bucky exhales a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Project Rebirth.’ Steve sighs as he says it and looks down at his hands. ‘It was, I was an experimental subject. For the government. A supersoldier.’ He looks up from his hands and at Bucky. ‘In 1943. They chose me as a test subject for creating the perfect soldier. I was twenty five.’

Bucky knows those dates match with the small amount of data he was able to find on his own. A supersoldier. That could mean anything, but it explains the uniform, the mask, the elite team he was given. He’s looking back at Steve steadily, trying not to let his impatience show, he does want to give Steve leeway to tell this at his own pace. It doesn’t seem to be news he’s a fan of sharing.

Steve is watching him for a reaction and seems to accept the small rise of Bucky’s eyebrows as a request to continue. ‘Before the serum I was sort of small, had some health problems, enough that they knocked me back every time I tried to enlist,’ he smiles at the memory, but it's a sad smile. ‘And the lead doctor on the project was a scientist who’d fled Germany, was working to find a way to put an end to all the horror of the war. For some reason he wanted to give me his serum, the serum he'd developed,’ Steve pauses.

‘Supersoldier serum,’ Bucky says, keeping up with the story.

‘Right, he wanted to give it to someone who would use it for good. And I guess he saw something in me.’

Bucky nods, because he can see it. It's indefinable, but it's there, and he can only imagine that this smaller, stubborn Steve would have carried himself with the same strength of character. Same steadfast control as the larger version sitting in front of him now.. 

‘But the Nazi’s, or I should say, a small scientific faction of the Nazi’s who called themsleves Hydra-’

‘I’ve read about Hydra,’ Bucky says, ‘I took history as a minor.’

Steve only smiles softly at the interruption. ‘Well they infiltrated the experiment, tried to steal the serum, the control parameters. They killed doctor Erskine,’ Steve says and his eyes shine with the feeling of that loss, ‘and they destroyed the serum. It could never be recreated.’

‘But it worked on you, because you fought, you... I mean they say you won the war.’

‘ _I_ didn’t win it,’ Steve says sharply, looking at Bucky, ‘millions of men and women gave their lives for that victory, I did my part, just like them.’

Bucky nods with contrite understanding. Because he doesn’t know much about being a soldier, but he knows some things about war, and he knows how it can get it’s hooks in and never leave you. 

‘Anyway I... yeah it worked. And I fought, and then I went down in a plane. Crash landed in the Arctic, and ended up buried in the ice. It should’ve killed me. But they say because of the serum I, well I didn’t die, I was just frozen. For sixty six years’

‘Steve,’ Bucky says and he does move forward, is the one to reach out to Steve and take his hand, because he knows he’s just getting the abridged version and, well whatever happened, if it put that look on Steve’s face, it wasn’t good. 

Steve shrugs his shoulders but turns his palm over to link their fingers together. And though Steve glances at them, he doesn’t focus on them, just holds on like he needs it. ‘About nine years ago they found me in the ice, woke me up and here I am.’

Bucky looks at him, at his face and studies it. It's a good face, strong jaw, straight nose, a few breaks maybe, but sharp, handsome, and his cheekbones are high, they hold a definition that lends him a sort of beauty. It’s masculine, rough, even with the clean shave and swept back, short blond hair, but it's beautiful. He holds a weight though, in his eyes. Bucky can see it so clearly now, and wonders how he missed it before.

‘Say something, Buck.’

‘Is that how you could hear Stark? On the phone? Because you have super hearing?’

Steve looks disappointed in Bucky’s response. Maybe he was expecting something heartfelt. But Bucky still needs answers. He wants to know where he stands in all of this, and why he’s here, in this van. On the run, as it were. 

Steve answers anyway, nods in the affirmative.

‘And you’re strong? Fast?’

Steve nods again. Part of Bucky wants to ask if the size of him is all a product of the serum, but he remembers that Steve didn’t like being questioned about his body, which makes a lot of sense to Bucky now, and thinks it would just be cruel to infer it. 

‘And Tony Stark is related to this through Howard?’

‘Wow, you really just want the facts, huh?’

‘You still haven’t told me what _I’m_ doing here, Steve.’

‘Right. Sorry. Of course. Well...Tony. Tony helped me navigate the world some when I was brought back, he was probably the only person I had any ties to in the world, even if just through Howard. But Shield, the government agency I belong to, they didn’t want the world to know about me, having people know about the serum can be… dangerous. So they gave me an apartment and set me up in one of their elite tactical teams, a birth certificate that said Steven Grant, born 1984, and pretended everything was normal.’

Bucky gets a bit stuck on the idea that Steve _belongs_ to the government, and the fact that they’ve made him lie about who he is for the past nine years, but he lets him continue, doesn't want to interrupt while he’s on a roll.

‘And Tony and I lost touch after a while, he was so busy with his work and his parties and me, I was busy being a good soldier again. And I met Nat,’ and here, the redhead in the driver's seat waves a hand at Bucky. ‘They paired us together on a lot of missions because we worked so well together.’ Bucky can see the bond in the way Steve looks at her as she drives. Like she’s family. ‘I met Sam a few years later in DC, he was a counsellor at the Veterans Affairs there.’ Sam waves too, not to be left out. ‘And having friends, being out in the world again, I started to realise things weren’t all that they seemed at Shield.

‘Then about two years ago it all went to shit.’

Bucky swallows worriedly at the look in Steve’s eye ‘ What happened?’

‘Turns out Hydra-’

‘Hydra, the Nazi’s?’

‘Yes,’ Steve rolls his eyes, ‘Hydra the Nazi’s. Turns out we didn't destroy them back in the war after all. They were alive and kicking as part of Shield, had infiltrated them and been operating within them for years.’ and his jaw clenches with the strain of that realisation, ‘For a while Nat was the only person I could trust there, we escaped with as much evidence as we could find and Sam was our rock, putting us up and keeping us safe.’

Bucky fights the stab of jealousy at the way Steve looks at Sam then, which is so ridiculous. Because it's a _good_ thing that Steve has friends who are there for him like that.

‘So now you’re on the run from the government?’ Bucky asks, burying his drama way way down.

‘Yeah, I mean, not really?’

Bucky just signals for him to go on, despite that making no sense.

‘Short story? We’re working with some people from the government to help take down Hydra from the inside. But it’s a tenuous relationship at best. I’m not about to let them try and control me again,’ Yeah, Bucky is pretty aware of how much Steve likes to be the one in control, ‘and so we operate off the grid for the most part.’

‘What are you doing in Minneapolis?’

‘Honestly?’

Bucky just gives him his best ‘no shit’ look.

‘Honestly, we’re watching Tony. Someone at Stark Industries is in bed with Hydra, we just don't know who.’

Which makes sense, again, mostly. Though Bucky's convinced Tony Stark would balk at the commitment necessary to be so nefarious. 

‘And so _you're_ here because _Tony’s_ here. For the conference.’

'Sort of. We knew his schedule had him landing in Minneapolis directly from Afghanistan that day so we had the government force MSA to direct him through the terminal as part of an International arrival procedure. What we needed was to get onto his private jet. He's kind of a hard guy to pin down.'

'But you were on my flight?'

‘I was supposed to have flown in the day before, Sam and Nat were already at Minneapolis airport, but I got stuck in New York. I wasn't meant to be there,' Steve says quickly, 'What happened with you was an accident.'

'It was an accident?' Bucky asks. Does that mean Steve regrets it?

'Oh lord,' Sam says quietly from the front. 

'I mean, unplanned, meeting you was _unplanned_.'

'You know that whole thing on the flight was your idea, pal, I was just along for the ride,' Bucky bristles. And Steve placates him with a fond look and a well placed press of his fingers. 

'I know, I know, but you can't blame a guy, Buck, you took me by surprise…' Steve moves right up against Bucky, slipping one knee between Bucky's legs, sitting at a right angle to Bucky on the bench seat. 'Looking so sweet and beautiful next to me, giving me that look like you wanted me to eat you whole.' And his voice has dropped to that deep, warm register that does dangerous things to Bucky's body.

'No funny business in the back of this van!' Sam calls out, sounding like a disappointed dad. 

Nat doesn't seem to be perturbed if the quiet, 'Let them live, Sam,' is anything to go by. 

'Eye’s forward!' Steve says sternly, and Bucky is so hot for the authority in that tone it's embarrassing. 

Still, none of this helps Bucky understand why he is here, now, in this van. 

'But why am _I_ here Steve?'

'Tony made me, yesterday, in your hotel room. I don't know how, but he recognised my voice,’ Steve lets go of Bucky’s arm with one of his hands to run it over his face. ‘It would be.. less than ideal for him to know I’m around. And if he's with Hydra, it could put you in danger too. I couldn't take the chance that he might use you to get to me.'

Stark _had_ been calling him nonstop since that first clusterfuck phone call...

'I had to get out of there, Bucky, as quick as possible, get back to Sam and Nat so we could pack up the operation, get on the road and then grab you before Tony got to you.' 

'But you just left me there.' Bucky tries and fails to keep the tremble out of his voice, ‘Alone. Anything could have happened.’

'No, Bucky, I put a tracker on your bag-'

'You what?'

'So I wouldn't lose you, and I got Nat straight onto watching the hotel,'

‘That doesn't... That's not the same, Steve, I was driving myself crazy wondering why you ran out on me like that.’ Bucky feels a little violated knowing they bugged him. Also tracking a person's knock off Tom Ford luggage doesn't mean you can just walk out on them, no explanation required.

‘The most important thing was to keep you safe, Buck.’

Great, don't worry about post sex small talk, just as long as Steve knows where Bucky is at all times, life will be grand.

'For how long?' he asks, ‘How long will you be keeping me safe, like this?’ 

'A week, two, tops,' Steve answers back quickly, 'We're so close. A couple more days surveillance would have been ideal but we almost have what we need.' 

'What about my job, Steve, what about my funding?' 

'Bucky, do you really want your work funded by blood money? Something is wrong at Stark Industries, their profit margins don't add up. '

Bucky thinks about what lines he'd be willing to cross in order to get that money and realises this isn't one of them. He shakes his head.

Steve sighs with relief, 'I am sorry Bucky, but your job is safe. A contact of ours is getting paperwork sorted with your boss, a guaranteed two weeks of paid leave while you're commissioned to a high security project.'

'Just like that?'

'All you need is the right paperwork, Buck.'

For the first time since they left the airport, Bucky looks out the windows to see where they're going. It looks like they've made it onto the interstate going south.

'We're going to Iowa,' Steve says.

'Iowa?' Bucky asks, 'what's in Iowa?'

'A friend,' Nat says gently, not taking her eyes off the highway.

‘If you were watching Tony, how come you didn’t recognise me at the conference?’ Bucky asks.

‘Nat was on watch at the conference.’

‘Oh.’

‘And I hadn’t told her or Sam anything about you.’

‘Right.’ That sits uncomfortably with Bucky, whether because it's an indication that their encounter was something to hide, or just didn't mean anything to him. Or maybe Bucky could cut him some slack and recognise that Steve might have kept what happened between them to himself because it was nobody else's business. 

There's too many thoughts in Bucky's head now. It's making him anxious and irritable. He takes a moment to breathe and let the vibrations through the van floor wash over his tired and overwhelmed state of mind. With the careful way Nat is driving, Bucky thinks they have about three hours before they get where they're going. He could just lie down here, next to Steve, close his eyes for a minute. 

‘You look tired, Bucky,’ Steve says, like he can read his mind (he hopes that’s not one of his super powers), ‘You should rest up a bit, lie down.’ And he tugs at Bucky by the arm he’s still holding, gently maneuvering him until he’s lying on the seat with his head in Steve’s lap. 

‘I’m still mad at you,’ Bucky says, though it lacks some punch when his face is resting on Steve’s giant thigh. 

‘I know. You can still be mad at me when you wake up, don’t worry.’ And Steve uses his clever fingers to pluck the hat off Bucky’s head and card them through his hair, massaging into Bucky’s scalp. ‘Just relax and rest, I’ll wake you when we’re close.’

Bucky feels his eyes closing beyond his control, but he has one last question, wants to ask it before he gives in. ‘Steve?’

‘Mm?’

‘Why’d you give me your number? If you're supposed to be a big secret? You told me your name was Steve. You wrote your initials on the note. You answered your phone “Rogers”.’ Bucky has been wondering it since last night, actually, 'Why not just give me a fake name?'

Bucky is half asleep now anyway, so Steve’s voice sounds distant and fuzzy, ‘I always give my real name to the people I care about Bucky.’ His hands run and run through Bucky's hair, 'And I really wanted to see you again.' It's almost a whisper.

And Bucky has a smile on his face as he lets the world disappear around him. 

  
  
  


‘Bucky. Buck, wake up.’ Someone is gently shaking him. He squeezes his eyes shut, he feels so tired still. Maybe he can make them go away by just not opening them. ‘We’re here, Buck.’

‘I’ll go find Clint,’ Bucky hears someone say before a door slams and he jolts into himself and is properly awake.

‘Huh?’ He says, sitting up with a start and nearly crashing into Steve on his way up, though Steve gracefully shifts out of Bucky’s way, with a speed Bucky now recognises as superhuman. 

‘Woah there,’ Steve laughs, ‘We’re here, sleepy head.’

Bucky discreetly uses his hands to check his face and hair and make sure he’s not a total wreck. Steve, whose lap Bucky has been sleeping in, leans over to smooth down his hair with two large, but delicate hands. 

‘Oh god, I’m sorry, was I asleep on you that whole time?’

‘It’s okay,’ Steve says, smiling that smile he has, ‘I like having you in my lap.’

‘Steve, oh my god,’ Bucky says, rolling his eyes, because he cannot be thinking about getting in Steve’s lap right now, but _Jesus,_ does he want to. ‘You said we’re here?’

‘Yes,’ he pulls back from Bucky to grab some things from the van. ‘We should get inside, Clint knows we’re coming.’

Bucky goes to grab his own things from the floor but Steve has bundled them up in his arms along with the rest of the things, and is hustling Bucky through the door and into a wide open stretch of grassy field. He looks around him in awe, taking in the open space, the expanse of orchard trees in the distance, and the sizable farmhouse at the end of a path that runs out from where they’ve parked the van. It’s beautiful, and entirely _not_ what Bucky had been expecting of their safe house. 

‘Where are we again?’ He remembers something about Iowa, and he’s heard them mention Clint twice now.

‘Clint is a retired shield agent. Nat’s old partner.’

‘Shield like the bad guys?’

‘Don’t worry, you can trust Clint, he’s good people.’ And Bucky will trust who Steve trusts. In for a penny, and all that. So he nods along and follows Steve as he leads him towards the house.

A tall, lean man in blue jeans and a long sleeved black tee-shirt, with close cropped and slightly spiky blond hair and tanned skin is coming down from the wrap around porch to meet them halfway. He’s attractive, Bucky can see as he gets closer, his hands are covered in bandages and a brown, mixed breed, three legged dog is waddling down beside him. He looks like he spends a lot of time working in the sun, working with his hands, and his smile is warm and inviting.

This must be Clint.

He grabs some of the bags from Steve as soon as he reaches them and claps him on the shoulder.

‘Good to see you, Cap,’ Clint says, his mannerisms are all easy charm and Bucky feels comfortable almost immediately. He wonders if that’s a learned skill, as a spy, it probably comes in very handy. ‘And this must be James?’ and Bucky loses that comfort like a dropped sheet. 

He never said his name was anything but Bucky. But of course they’ve been watching him since last night, they’ve pulled some sort of file on him, even if only to find out his connections to Tony and make sure he isn’t involved with him somehow. But just how much do they know?

Jesus, they probably know everything. 

Steve is watching Bucky, can see his sudden misgivings, and though Clint is still waiting for an introduction, he’s doing it very patiently. 

‘Bucky is fine,’ he says finally and tries not to flinch as Steve reaches for him. He smiles at Clint though, remembering his manners, ‘Do you have somewhere I can wash up? I’m not sure I’ve really woken up all the way yet.’

‘Oh sure,’ Clint turns towards the house and gestures for Bucky to follow, ‘Come with me. Mi casa, su casa.’

Steve eye’s him warily and takes up the rear, shouldering Bucky’s gear and carefully giving him a foot of space. 

The house is more of a ranch, it's big and open, there's about four different renovation projects in various stages of completion about the place, but the kitchen is huge with industrial level appliances and there's a very inviting fireplace in the living area. 

Clint leads Bucky through to a staircase and up to the second level, where there appear to be at least five bedrooms. The bedroom Clint offers him has an ensuite attached and he points it out to Bucky with a flourish.

'Home sweet home for a while, huh? What do you think?'

'Its lovely,' Bucky says, because it’s polite, and because it's true. There's a Queen bed with a navy blue bedspread, dark wood side tables and a rocking chair under the plantation shuttered windows opposite the bed. The ensuite, from a cursory glance, appears to have a claw foot tub with an attached shower head, a single sink in a small vanity unit and a toilet. 

'Okay, I'll let you two settle in here while I rangle some grub.'

'Us two?' Bucky asks, because what?

'You and Steve, he said you would-' Clint takes one look at Steve's face and cuts himself off. 'Okay, I'm gonna let you guys talk it out. I'll be downstairs.'

'Thank you, Clint,' Steve says, heavy on the authority, and Bucky is honestly terrified to be left alone with him. He cannot be held responsible for his traitorous biological reactions. 

'Nice to meet you, Bucky!' Clint calls from his way down the stairs.

And Bucky calls back, 'You too!' but is really talking to nobody. He looks at Steve and stares him down. 'So we're sharing a room?' Steve shuts the door before turning back to Bucky.

'Some of us have to share, Buck, we drew a short straw.'

'Really.'

'I mean, if you like, I can share with Sam. I've bunked down with Sam a time or two.' 

Bucky is aware enough to know his immediate reaction to that is _hell no_. 

Because no, no, no. The very idea that Steve and Sam have history is making his eye twitch, and he can see Steve's smile, that shithead, and he knows he he’s got Bucky. He's totally messing with him. Well. 

He can play this game too.

'Or I could share with Sam?' Bucky says, and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Because Steve's face is so precious. 'You know he said I had the prettiest eyes? I bet he wouldn't mind bunking down with me.'

'No.'

'Steve,' Bucky holds back a laugh, but still sounds exasperated.

'Don't even joke, you share with me, or no one.'

And what is wrong with Bucky that this cro magnon, possessive Steve is getting him totally hard right now. 

'Oh, you like that,' Steve says, dropping the attitude and clocking straight to Bucky's arousal. God, Bucky can't hide _anything_ from him. 'Like me telling you what to do, don't you Buck,' and his voice has dropped to that rich, deep tenor, and he is such a shit, because that is _not_ fair.

'No. I'm so mad at you Steve, you don't get to be all sexy, that's not fair!'

'You've got two weeks to be mad at me, Buck, be mad later, let me make you feel good.'

And Steve is inching towards Bucky, who's standing right in front of the bed like an idiot, trapped by his own want. 

'You know I can make you feel so, so good, Buck,' Steve says, and his words wrap around Bucky like warm silk, 'Don't you?' 

And Bucky wants to keep Steve on the ropes, wants him to know he won't just fall at his feet whenever he clicks his fucking fingers. But it's not working. He's got no immunity to this. 

'Answer me, Bucky.' 

Oh god. He has to. 'Yes.'

'Yes what, Bucky.'

'Yes, I know you can make me feel good Steve.' Bucky isn't even sure he wants to be mad anymore. He feels Steve's presence seep into his pores and run right into his bloodstream. It's calming and it's grounding. 

It's addictive. 

'And do you want it, Buck?' Steve is right up on him now, body heat radiating off him. Bucky wants his hands on him, his mouth. All of it.

'I shouldn't, but I do, I really fucking do.'

'Look at me Bucky.' 

And Bucky does, because Bucky knows Steve doesn't fuck around with this stuff.

'Do you really?'

'I want you to make me feel good,' Bucky says, carefully this time, 'but I don't want you to hurt me again.'

'Oh Buck,' Steve says, deflating suddenly, reaching for Bucky and pressing their foreheads together. 'I didn't mean to, I didn't,' and it's Bucky's turn to offer comfort.

He reaches up to cup Steve's face in his hands, 'I know Stevie, I know. But you can't do that again, okay? I just need to know what's happening, if I'm going to be in the middle of it.'

'You will, I promise,' Steve says and clutches at Bucky, pulling him up to kiss him fiercely. 

And Bucky has more questions, and he and Steve, if they want to keep doing this, they have to sit down and talk about it. But for right now, he wants to float into the space that Steve's body can carve out for him. And Bucky is allowed to want things.

'Good, then yes, Steve. Do it. Make me feel good '

And Steve's kiss turns filthy at Bucky's request. He slows right down, opening his mouth wider, pressing his tongue into Bucky. Steve pulls himself away from Bucky's lips to nip and suck down his neck, and as he steps back to hook his hands under Bucky's threadbare grey sweater, he freezes, shifting his ear slightly to the door.

'Wait here,' he says, kissing Bucky quick before sliding over to the door. He opens it fractionally and only because Bucky's listening does he hear someone coming up the stairs (they squeak). 'Hey, is it urgent? Good, can you give us, say, an hour?'

Bucky doesn't hear the other side of that conversation and he doesn't know who it is, but Steve is already closing the door and on his way back to Bucky.

'Everything off,' Steve says, and sits himself down into the rocking chair. 'I want to watch you.'

And Bucky can feel his breathing pickup at the thought of Steve sitting right there watching him get undressed. Maybe even watch him get himself off. 

He starts where Steve was interrupted and grips the hem of his sweater to lift it up and over his head. He tosses it aside with his metal hand and follows Steve's eyes as they burn that little bit brighter at the sight of it. 

He sits on the bed to peel off his shoes and socks, tossing them aside with his sweater and then stands back up to undo his black jeans and slide them down his legs. He kicks them aside and stands straight, left only in his navy blue boxer briefs. He feels pretty good about it, in actual fact. He _likes_ how he looks in these briefs. They sit low on his hips and draw attention to the muscular flesh of his upper thigh, where the material stops. 

Steve's eyes are currently fixed on Bucky's crotch. And very probably at the erection that's almost managing to escape from his underwear.

'Everything,' Steve says again and sits back with his hands steepled under his chin.

Bucky holds his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs at either hip and lowers them slowly down over the thick head of his cock, down over the meat of his ass, his thighs and slowly down to his feet. He kicks them away with the rest of his clothes.

And it's as Bucky strokes one hand across his stomach and the other up and down his bare thigh, that Steve stands, walks over to the door, and opens it, just a fraction. 

Bucky freezes, and his heart takes off in his chest. Steve turns around and stalks back over to Bucky, Bucky whose eyes are fixed on the sliver of space between the edge of the door and the house beyond. A house full of people Bucky barely knows.

He can feel his breathing intensify. Any one of them could walk past at any minute and see or hear what Steve and Bucky are doing in here. Know that Bucky is standing, naked, at Steve's mercy. Know that Bucky is touching himself at Steve's command. 

And oh god, the thought of someone walking by, catching a glimpse of this, is driving Bucky so wild his dick is standing straight up against his belly. 

'Look at you, Bucky, beautiful. You _love_ this,' Steve whispers as he reaches Bucky by the bed. He leans in close, carefully not touching Bucky and says low, in his ear, 'If it's too much, just tell me. I'll do whatever you need me to do.' 

Bucky looks up to catch Steve's eyes and holds them as he runs a hand along the length of his dick and twists. 

Steve's breath catches in his throat. 

He licks his lips and sweeps his eyes down Bucky's body to the motion of his hand. The 'Don't stop,' he grinds out is rough and he takes a step to the side, pulls the zipper open on the side pocket of the duffle bag that sits on the bed and comes back with a tube of lubricant, spreads some over his fingers and reaches down to hold a slicked up finger to the rim of Bucky's asshole.

'I'm gonna open you up so I can fuck you, Bucky.'

And Bucky can feel the soft press of Steve's finger as his body expands and deflates with each elevated breath. He feels his own hand stroke himself up and down slowly as he imagines the feel of that finger inside him and reaches forward to catch Steve's lips in a gentle kiss.

Steve kisses him back, places his other hand at Bucky's waist and presses up inside of him, circling around his rim and then fucking into him with his finger. He catches the gasp from Bucky's lips and licks into it. Kissing and kissing him through the push and pull of his finger as he adds more lube and a second finger slowly.

God, it burns as it stretches, but it lights up his nerve endings, sending little shocks through Bucky’s body that pool low in his belly. Steve must spread some lube under Bucky’s hand because suddenly he slips, can tighten his fist and squeeze in a slick glide, adding heat and intensity to his strokes. And Steve chooses that moment to curl his finger inside Bucky and find that spot that makes him cry out.

Only he can’t, the fucking door is _still open_ and he can’t let them hear, so he bites down on his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood. 

‘Don’t you want them to hear you, baby?’ Steve rumbles into his ear, a deep chuckle vibrating in his throat. ‘Don’t you want them to hear what I’m doing to you?’ And he curls his goddamn finger again in that exact same place, searing heat through Bucky and shorting out his brain.

‘Steve, Steve, Steve.’ Bucky whispers, he’s trying, he’s trying to be so quiet, but god, it feels like he’s on fire. 

And Steve is so cruel, so so cruel, because instead of taking pity on Bucky he adds another finger to that delicious stretch, fills him up even more. 

‘You can scream, if you need to scream,’ Steve offers helpfully, all smug and feigned graciousness that has Bucky shaking and shaking his head. ‘If you need me to stop we can stop.’

‘Jesus, no, please don’t stop,’ Bucky pleads. He sounds absolutely wrecked and he’d be mortified about it except he feels too damn good. 

And Steve takes up the pace and angle of his fingers, hitting every spot like he’s mapped them, until Bucky is fucking himself down onto Steve and up into his own hand with furious erraticism.

It's too much, all of it together is too much and Bucky knows it's too soon but the pleasure is overwhelming and suddenly he's coming, spilling over his hand and Steve's shirt.

'Sorry, I'm sorry,' Bucky is saying, the words getting lost in Steve's mouth as he kisses Bucky through it.

'No, it's perfect, you're perfect, Bucky.' And the praise warms him even as the cold of Steve getting up to leave him sets in. Bucky turns to hide the disappointment from Steve but it's useless. 'Bucky, Buck, I'm just getting the door,' Steve says, pressing back into Bucky so fast, he'd barely heard the snick of the door closing again. 'Come on, let's clean you up.'

Steve ushers them into the ensuite to wash Bucky's hands in the sink and run a warm cloth over any residual mess on his stomach. Then he helps Bucky into some clean sweats and a top from Steve's duffle. He has to roll the legs of the pants up twice but they fit okay at the waist. The shirt hangs off him, but the extra wide neckline of the henley is flattering, as is the light blue colour of the fabric. 

Steve changes too, into jeans and a black, long sleeved t-shirt that has Bucky wanting to fist his hands into the fabric and curl up against his chest.

'Come here,' Steve says, pulling Bucky in close and resting his chin on the crown of Bucky's head. Bucky snakes his arms around him and just squeezes. 'You want to go down and get food, or you want me to bring some up for you.'

'You'd bring it up to me?'

'I'll do whatever you want me to do.'

'Can we just stay here for a minute?'

'Sure,' Steve says, quickly contradicted by the sound of Clint's voice yelling from downstairs,

'Fresh pizza is ready! Come down and serve yourselves, assholes!'

'Maybe we should go down,' Bucky says gently, extricating himself from the warmth of Steve's arms.

'No hey, come back,' Steve grabs him, pulls him back in, 'they can wait. This is more important.'

Bucky just sinks into the embrace. 

Two weeks. He gets to have this for two weeks.

That's two lazy Sunday breakfasts in bed. 

It might not be all he dreamed of, and there might now be an evil secret branch of the government out to find and torture him. But he has two weeks of paid leave, of super hero sex, of idyllic country settings and home made pizza in his future.

And Bucky knows that sometimes you just take what you can get.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There's potentially 2 more of these. As long as people are still interested.
> 
> And as always, come find me in the comments (I love hearing from you!) Or on Tumblr and Twitter:
> 
> [darter-blue](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/darter-blue) on tumblr
> 
> [@beclouise13](https://twitter.com/beclouise13) on twitter


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